


Strenuous Pyrotechnics

by CountessOfLovelace (Original_Cypher)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I think it's a little funny, Injury, M/M, Sickfic, can't tag cause spoilers....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25358098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/CountessOfLovelace
Summary: Clint isn't there to have everyone's back when something goes wrong, and Bucky goes down. Clint is banged up, but he’s not worried about himself. Supersoldiers just don’t stay unconscious.Aka grown men taking Oblivious to epic levels.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	Strenuous Pyrotechnics

Bucky yanked Clint back to his feet by grabbing both of his hands and pulling up, like one would pick up a child who had tripped. It was a bit humiliating. The sting of _that_ was almost sharper than that of Clint's bloody knee. Again. A kid's injury. 

" _As if I didn't hate fireworks enough_!" Clint shouted at Bucky over the surrounding ruckus just as a huge explosion of blue set off a few yards away.

It was probably only because Bucky was watching his face that he made out what Clint said. He laughed, eyes crinkled with mirth and teeth on display. "You're an idiot -....!" he yelled back. Clint didn't make out the rest. He didn't have to. Bucky's remark was delivered with a fond smile, he wasn't angry. Clint _knew_ it had been stupid to dive from the roof of the bus. But he'd saved a life, and they both knew that too. Another flash. 

This time, it was white and so bright it blinded Clint for a few seconds. He blinked the shiny dots of persistence of vision away to find Bucky again. He was squinting against the onslaught of light. 

Another boom above, and red rained all around them. Bucky steadied Clint with a hand on his shoulder and held out the other to him, palm up. Baffled, Clint took his left com back. It had been yanked out when Clint had taken a spectacular tumble not a minute ago. Somehow, Bucky had found it. Maybe the arm doubled as a metal detector? He'd have to ask sometime. 

Shockingly, the com slash hearing aid still functioned, Clint found as he wriggled it back in place. Three cheers for Stark Tech. Not that it was very useful in the current cacophony, mind you. Through the flash of a green crackle-pop-whiiiiiiz explosion, Clint caught Bucky's quick signing of the shortened, Nat-Buck-Clint version of 'you good?' and nodded in response. In response, Bucky clapped his shoulder and set off running, Clint on his heels. They hurried back towards…. this week's marvelous case of WTF. 

Today's threat had to have been designed to offend Clint, he decided. It was _circus themed_ . But the kind of circus theme you might find in a horror movie based on a children's fantasy becoming a nightmare. It was exaggerated, garish, and over the top. Yes. Clint, who had been part of an Actual Circus, found this _over the fucking top_. He figured this fact alone said everything that needed to me said on the subject.

At this moment, the main threat that was keeping Bucky, Clint and Wanda busy was a cotton candy stand. It was three stories high, appeared to be sentient, hungry for meat, and when threatened, hedgehogged into a ball that rolled around and shot fireworks in all directions. 

All of that because of a perfect storm of three cosmically bad mistakes. Some idiot had… bought a cursed object(1), carried it around so that it soaked up living energy(2), and thrown it in a damn wishing well(3)!!! 

Clint much preferred watching episodes of Supernatural to living them, thank you very much.

xxxxxx

"I'm fine," Clint groused as Sam asked him for the third time. 

"Yeah, man. I believe you about as much as I did earlier." 

Ignoring Clint's familiar grumbling, he kept half of Clint's weight off his twisted ankle and walked him all the way up to the table at the center of the room. Clint sat on the edge of it gingerly, pulling his arm back from where Sam had slung it over his own shoulders. 

Steve's half jogged heavy step and the clang of Tony's armor made them look up. Naturally, Nat and Bucky's entrance into the room was perfectly silent. It made Clint smile to himself. Wanda came in next. "You should really let me look at that," she told Cap, in the tone of someone who was repeating themselves. 

Steve shrugged. "It's just painful. It'll heal in no time," he said, pivoting in place to look over his own shoulder. There was a large patch of raw skin running from half up his shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. Around it, the charred remains of his suit hung pitifully. Clint cringed at the sight, suddenly certain he could _smell_ it.

"Adding 'increase fire resistance' to suit specs. Check," Tony mumbled. 

Sam walked around Steve and gave him the eyebrows. "You sure you alright?! How are you not screaming your head off?" 

"Oh, it hurts like a mother. But it's already getting better." Captain 'Walk It Off' Rogers, everybody.

"Don't-... _move_ ," ordered Wanda firmly, as she pressed the pads of her fingertips on the suit at the edges of the wound. "I would really like to check whether there is any magical element to the injury."

Sam gave Steve A Look. "What Sabrina said."

Clint snorted. 

"What. She is a teenage witch. _Ow_." Sam recoiled and swatted in front of his face as a tiny magical fly made of sparks flew at him. 

Wanda smirked. "Only for a few more weeks, birdface."

" _Hey_." Sam and Clint intoned at once. 

"Guys…" 

Tony groaned. “We’re being called back in.”

“Are you serious?”

“We _just_ got back!”

Clint frowned, tapping his com. “I’m not getting anything.”

Tony shrugged. “Small intercept team. Italy. Three, four tops. Seems like it's connected to today.”

Great. More creepy clowns. 

“Count me in,” Bucky and Clint said at once. Bucky frowned at Clint. “You’re not going.”

So what if he was only human? Italy was quite the flight away. His ankle would have time to chill out by then. Tightly wrapped, it’d do the trick. It wasn’t anything he had never done before. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter.” Clint poked at Bucky’s chest belligerently. He got Bucky’s nipple, judging by the way he swayed back, rolling his shoulder away, nose wrinkling. Oops. “You’re not my CO, Barnes.”

Steve opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that technically _he_ was, but Bucky shot him a look. Clint starred, confused. Now Bucky was on his side?

That illusion didn’t last long. Bucky placed his hand under Clint’s elbow and pushed upwards gently, with only the tips of his fingers. It went well until Clint’s arm was horizontal and he had to lean to the side and yank it back with a cringe and a hiss. Aw, bruised ribs, no. "Hm.” Bucky’s metal hand spread against Clint's ribcage, the gentleness of the gesture strangely dissonant with the hard, pragmatic metal. “Could you even draw your bow right now?" 

Ugh. Fine. Clint hated being left out. Left behind. "Don't rub it in, jerk."

Bucky shook his head with a smile and poked him in the chest. Clint yelped. Yep. That was nipple retaliation, for sure. "Just looking out for you when you won't do it yourself, punk."

Steve smirked. "You know, it's funnier when I'm not the one being lectured."

“Fuck you."

Steve's smile was wide and happy. "No thanks.“

"Damn straight," Sam pipped up from where Wanda was examining the cuff of his suit. The witch muffled a giggle.

"Your loss."

Bucky, who had been watching his friends verbally spar, snorted at Clint's last mumble. "His loss isn't big. You can barely move," he reminded Clint. "Nor _should_ you." He swayed closer to the table and used one of his knees to gently knock into Clint's good leg. " _Heal_ , okay?" He glanced over to the others. Steve had his hand on Wanda's shoulder, her, Sam and him talking quietly. Tony and Nat had already gone somewhere. "How long?" 

Cap looked up. "Wheels up in ten?" 

"M'kay. I'm going to go change this shirt." Bucky tugged at the fabric on his chest, which was soaked in a mixture of sweat, goop of unknown magical origin and mud. You probably should too.

Steve snorted, glancing at the back of his suit. “Oh, I dunno. Kate said cut outs are trendy.”

Sam snorted. “That’s because she’s trying to get you into a crop top.”

“A what?”

Bucky turned his attention back to Clint. "Ice. Medical. Be responsible about this."

Clint groaned. "Aw. Now you’ve gone from CO to _dad_."

Bucky snorted in laughter, then gave Clint's knee a squeeze. "Nah. I just feel safer when I know you have my back."

"Fine," Clint allowed, even though Bucky had already crossed the room. 

Tony called out on the main coms, and Bucky and Cap filed out. Sam was next, because wherever Steve went, Sam went. As he and Wanda watched them disappear down the hall, Clint remembered they were headed to Italy. "Bring me back coffee!!" 

He then spent a few moments looking down at the floor, contemplating how he was going to get down. 

"I could float you somewhere," Wanda suggested, either guessing at his thoughts or simply entertained by the idea.

"Oh, thank fuck."

xxxxxxxx

Naturally, Clint made a break for it as soon as he could. Cracked ribs were cracked ribs. Once they were there, all you had to do was wait it out. 

So he could wait in his own rooms, thank you very much. He had much rather take residence on his couch and dose off watching Buffy reruns than watch Buffy reruns on a Stark Pad in a stiff hospital bed three floors below. 

He did feel like crap, though. A combination of exhaustion, adrenalin crashing, the fact that his right side was a rainbow of bruise colors, being left behind, and the painkiller induced drowsiness cut his planned tv marathon pretty short. By the end of episode two, he decided that pizza would have to wait for _after_ his nap. 

xxx 

It took a while to piece things together when he emerged from his slumber. At first, the clock seemed to indicate that he had gone backwards in time while he slept. Further blinking, reflection, and inquiries made to Jarvis revealed that, in fact, Clint's 'nap' had lasted nearly twenty hours. 

He felt feverish. His tummy felt floaty and upset when he limped his way to the toilet. For a Clint Barton that hadn't eaten in over a day, this was definitely not par for the course.

His side was thrumming with dull pain and every muscle fibre felt sore. "Do I have the flu?" Or perhaps it was some kind of shock thing? Part of the healing process? Twisted ligaments, pulled muscles, cracked bones… that did represent quite a bit of repair work for his body to do. Perhaps this was what it felt like for people his age.

 _Big_ tired. And surely, now he needed to get some nutrition in him. 

Not that he felt even remotely like food right now. Which, really. Red flag number one.

Jarvis, polite and prodding, 'suggested' Clint should join the rest of the Avengers on site in the common area. The silent implication that someone had been warned he was awake and would soon come seek him out was pretty loud. 

On the way down, Clint considered going back to medical to ask for pain medication. On the one hand, pain relief. On the other hand, he would probably get his fever checked and dealt with, which in itself was a good thing, but since he was pretty sure he _had_ a fever, someone would then _know_ about it. 

The mood was tense when he found the others. Nat was distracted, even as she fussed over him. Although it played in his favor, it reinforced the idea that something was up. But she wouldn't tell him. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Bruce asked him the third time Clint made a noise of discomfort and shifted on the couch. Or maybe it was because of the mug of coffee the Doc had made, which was sitting untouched in front of Clint.

"I'm a giant bruise. But I'll be okay. Not my first rodeo." Clint mustered up a smile for his worried friends. "Have I mentioned today how much I hate fireworks? Because I really do. Especially when they are aimed at me."

Bruce chuckled. Natasha scratched the hair at the back of his neck while she typed one handed on her phone. 

Clint dozed off. 

xxxx 

He woke up already in the act of jumping to his feet. The reflex to get up and off the couch, away from anyone, had kicked in before he was fully awake. 

Oh joy, it also meant that in his daze, he rammed his shin against the coffee table, twisted his ankle again and nearly fell over. Because why not. 

Everything tilted, and there was a hand at his elbow. Bruce. "Bathroom.." Clint managed, but they were already headed that way. The cold sweat he was drenched in had probably been a clue. 

"Okay," Clint whined softly when Bruce helped him sink to his knees in front of the toilet without further injuries. He was shivering cold, and his head felt like it was on fire. "Maybe, I'm not okay."

Those were the last words he could get out before his insides proceeded to methodically turn themselves inside out. 

Somehow, during the lapses of time used primarily for frantically sucking in air, he managed to communicate to Bruce that, yes, he'd rather be left alone, yes, Jarvis would let him know if anything worse happened, and yes, Jarvis would also be a pal and let him know when Clint was done playing the accordion with his guts.

xxxx 

The next twenty minutes were extremely unpleasant, but at least, now, ten more minutes after that, Clint felt better. So much so, in fact, that it seemed strange. 

Half an hour ago he had been reminiscing about the worst experiences of food poisoning he'd ever survived (ah… fake bottled water in India. Very high on his list of Do Not Recommend). And now, here he was, sitting on the floor and keeping track as his heartbeat returned to normal, feeling like he'd puked the poison _and_ the poisoning out of his system. 

Not that he was complaining, mind you. But he was pretty sure, thinking back to his last hangover, that his body did not work like that… 

Unless. 

This was magical. 

Or alien.

Dammit. 

" _How are you feeling, Agent Barton? Your vital signs are evolving in a reassuring manner._ " 

"Better, yeah. Thanks, Jarvis.” He flexed an unsteady hand. “Bit shaky."

" _Indeed. Throwing up is a demanding activity_ ." Clint made a face, unsure if he would call that an 'activity'. " _If you head towards the pink kitchen when you exit, you will find a beverage being made for you in the blender. It is clear and bland but packed with nutrients, minerals and sugar which you need to replenish at the moment_."

That… sounded better than to try to find Gatorade, actually. "Thanks, J."

Clint’s optimism increased as he made it to the kitchen without a roiling stomach. The drink Jarvis had engineered for him tasted like mineral water, like those fancy ones with a high magnesium content, that would have been infused with fresh strawberries. Like the IA had said, the taste was quite faint. Clint’s stomach seemed agreeable to it. He sipped some more. “Where is everyone?” Not only had no one walked in to check on him yet, but he couldn’t hear any signs of presence in the adjacent rooms.

“ _Everyone has gathered in Dr Banner’s lab. Sir has just landed the alpha team transportation on the roof. They will be bringing Sgt Barnes directly to Dr Banner._ ”

Clint stiffened. “Something happen to Bucky?”

“ _Sgt Barnes collapsed shortly after the jet took off from Italy on the way back. The working theory is that it must be linked to head trauma sustained during the fight over there, because he does not appear to have any other injuries_.”

Clint, stomping towards the elevator bay with his shake in hand, demanded. “Is he conscious now??”

“ _He has remained unconscious ever since. Although, Officer Wilson is currently insisting that-.._ .” Jarvis’ voice faded to a recording, or possibly a live feed, of Sam’s voice. “ _I know what a twitch is, babe. He wasn’t twitching before. He twitched just now. I felt it._ ”

Clint stepped into the lab just as the team rolled in Bucky on a stretcher. Sam must have been right, because Bucky was not just twitching anymore. He appeared to be conscious and attempting to sit up, causing even more of a fuss from the people wheeling him in. Namely, Steve, Sam and Tony. 

Clint let out a long breath he hadn't realised he’d been holding. Natasha noticed, Clint figured, when he felt her step closer to his side, her small hand slipping in his. He squeezed back. 

“.. -Stev-... Stevie, I’m _okay_. Lemme…” Bucky half pushed Steve from being in-his-face close, half used Cap’s shoulder to haul himself into a sitting position. He moaned softly, pressing his hand to his forehead, mumbling something about 1939 that made Steve finally crack a smile. 

Bruce, however, was frowning down at a device he’d pressed to Bucky’s temple moments ago. “You still have a fever.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, sighing as Steve pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “What are you doing, punk? You don’t think the doc’s thingy works better than your hand?” Steve blushed, but he didn’t step back. “Yeah, Doc. I feel a bit warm, still. Better than before we left Italy, though.”

“Indeed. I hear you didn’t tell anyone you were feeling poorly, then fainted in the middle of takeoff just to scare everyone.”

“Jesus Christ…” someone mumbled. Oops, that might have been Clint.

Sam and Tony, opted to call Bucky names, instead.

“Is he better, Doc?” Clint asked, stepping closer. “Is it…? We were mostly together during the stupid circus themed party. Could it be that we caught something there? Something… I dunno. _Weird_.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Weird?”

“Well, like… History suggests that supersoldiers don’t just pass out. Or get feverish.”

Bucky nodded, looking Clint over with a frown. Clint saw him clock the drink in his hand, which could definitely not be mistaken for coffee.

“That’s right,” Bruce agreed, pensive.

“History also suggests that when I get sick, the recovery is long and horrible and terrible and I whine about it for days.”

“Hear, hear,” Nat pipped up. Wanda concealed a chuckle with a cough. Ever the adult, Clint opted to stick his tongue out at them.

He turned back to Bruce. “But I’m… I don’t wanna jinx it, but I’m feeling better? Like. By a lot.”

The toe of Bucky’s shoe nudged Clint’s thigh, their eyes met. “You don’t look great.”

“ _Nooo_ ,” Clint shook his head, making a face and sipping more of Jarvis’ concoction. “I’m not there yet, either.” He paused. “Even though my last one really didn’t end well, I’m ready for a nap.”

Now Bucky _and_ Steve were looking at him with concern. “Hey, stop it. I’m not a supersoldier. I’m allowed to feel crappy.” He poked a finger at Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re worrying about _him,_ right now.”

Bucky started to protest, Tony started to make a quip, Clint started to insist, Steve started to try to quiet things down, Sam started to throw his hands up, Wanda started to stare at everyone like they were nuts, Nat started to pinch the bridge of her nose. “ _Silence!!_ ” Everyone turned towards Bruce’s pinched expression. “Everyone who's not sick. Out. I want my patients only.”

There were grumblings, but no protests, and soon everyone was shuffling out. Including Clint. He did not think he was going to actually get away with it, but he still sighed when a couple of metal fingers closed around the collar at the back of his shirt and pulled him short.

Bucky was chuckling to himself when Clint sat by his side with a huff. Bruce was regarding him with a half smile floating on his lips. Clint really did love these people, who instead of being annoyed with his theatrics, chose to embrace him as he was and were fondly amused by them instead. 

Bruce set up some equipment and mumbled to himself, flicking through text on his pad, then disappearing under his desk to emerge back with a big dictionary looking book. Bucky pulled Clint’s attention from watching the scientist with a nudge of his elbow. “They told us you weren’t feeling well.”

Clint shrugged. “Dunno. At first it was just sore, right? From the fight.”

“You did have quite the fall and tumble.”

“But maybe at the same time. I dunno one of those twenty four hour bugs?” Clint gave Bucky’s Concerned Puppy eyes a look. “I’m okay. I feel better now. I got sick. Big whoop. Regular mortals like yours truly do that, often, even.”

“Mhm. And I’m sure you took good care of yourself…”

“I did.” Clint gaped at Bruce and Bucky’s in synch doubtful noise. “I did! I rested. I came down to make sure you knew my state in case I got worse. I drank the thing Jarvis made me.”

“I saw,” Bruce allowed. “Is it staying down okay?”

“So far, yeah.”

“I have an inkling you’ll be fine, now.” Bruce took one of Clint’s hands and used a device to give what felt like a very localized jolt to the tip of his finger.

“Cool. _Ow._ ” Clint mumbled, watching the tiny drop of blood pearl on top of his skin. Bruce collected it with a tiny square of some kind of paper.

He then moved to Bucky, who held up his metal hand. Bruce snorted, swatted it down. Chuckling, Bucky offered his flesh hand. Clint snickered.

If Bruce was smiling, being good humoured with the two of them, he was probably not too worried for the health of Bucky, Clint reflected. 

As the doc went back to fiddle with more medical instruments now that he had samples, Bucky nudged Clint again. "This is what I meant about you taking care of yourself. See what happens when you're not there to have my back on a mission?" 

Clint snorted and squinted back. "Are you seriously trying to casually blame me for you getting knocked out on the field?"

Bucky smirked and shrugged. "You can't prove that it would have still happened if you had been there, can you?" 

"I…." Clint failed his hands, then winced when his side flared up with pain. "This isn't how proof works!"

"Actually-..."

"If we're starting down that road, you can't prove it wouldn't have happened with me there either! And then where are we?" 

" _Gentlemen_!"

Bucky and Clint pivoted towards Bruce, who was giving them a flat look. They got that a lot. 

"Thank you," Bruce said curtly. "Now. Are you aware that you both just _almost died_?"

"We what now?" 

"So, it's true? We have the same thing?" 

Bruce blinked at them. "Are you kidding me?" 

"What?" 

"No? It's not… funny?" 

"Why would we be kidding?" 

"We don't _always_ kid."

"I'm slightly worried about the part where we just almost died? Can we go back to that? How likely is it to happen again?" 

"Clint," Bucky hissed.

Clint sat up. "Sorry." What? He rambled when he was stressed. That was nothing new. "Go on, Doc."

Bruce stared at them in silence for such a long time that Clint started to feel _really_ uneasy. To a point that he would be willing to admit out loud to being scared. That he was about to open his mouth to laugh awkwardly and bring it up and ask Bruce to _please say something_. 

But Bruce finally spoke. "You don't know?" So, that didn't help with the being confused part. "You don't know. Wow." Bruce took a couple of steps back and sat on the examination table across from theirs. "Okay. Uh. I'm not prepared for this. This is a thing that does not happen. I'm…"

"Bruce." Bucky spoke softly, and his apparent calm grounded Clint as well. "Stuff that doesn't happen is kind of what we do," he reminded them. "Right?" 

"Right."

"So. What's up, Doc?" which he said, Clint knew, just for Clint's benefit. To make him smirk and bite back a chuckle. "Tell us." 

“Considering Clint’s… condition. As a… regular man, he was probably in more danger than you but…” he met Clint’s eye. “Then again, you seemed to have symptoms similar to a really bad flu, correct?”

“Yup.” Clint grimaced. “Fatigue. Aching all over. Up chucking. The whole nine yards.”

“Did you at any point lose consciousness like Bucky has?”

“Uh. No? I don't think so.” He shrugged. “I passed out, as in _slept_ , a lot. For a day. So I dunno. I don't remember fainting. But can you faint while you're asleep? I wouldn't know, right?”

“Right.”

“What's happening, Doc?”

“Well. It seems that you were right,” Bruce told Bucky. “Things would have gone smoother if Clint had gone to Italy with you. You two need to stick together, especially in the next few weeks. No more _flying halfway across the world from one another_ ,” Bruce insisted. He used his Serious Voice, too. “As you undoubtedly know, physical distance over extended periods of time is known to have a negative impact on the health of bonded soulmates. And it is particularly damaging to pairs with very recent bonds, which typically do not tolerate much distance or time apart.”

Clint circled through the words a second time, to be sure they meant what he thought he heard. Then he tried to connect them to the context, because it-... 

... wait. 

“... _what_.”

As a rule, Clint was the type to try, really hard, not to read into things that implied Good Things happening to him, because those were always tricks of the light. But. Bruce had just implied that he and Bucky….

A soulmate.

Clint had a soulmate.

He turned to see Bucky’s reaction, and found the man in question already looking at him. And upon meeting Clint’s eye, his face lit up. Bucky burst in laughter, bright and boundless. He looked... _delighted_ . Shiny, and happy, and beautiful, like a few days ago, in the fireworks. And Clint thought. _Oh_.

One of those flashes must have been… “I’ll leave you two alone,” Bruce said gently. Then he walked away muttering something that sounded like “...worse at communication than Steve and Tony…”

Clint looked back to Bucky, who had settled and stared back with a smile Clint had never seen before. Then, before Clint could react, Bucky had him pulled into a hug, then he tensed up almost immediately. “Shit. Am I hurting you?”

Clint wrapped his arms securely around his back. A Bucky hug. How nice. “Nah. You’re good. Don’t you dare move away.”

Bucky made a noise, burying his face in Clint’s neck, and scooted even closer. Yet, he was careful not to squeeze Clint or put pressure on his bruised side. “You’re... happy?”

The rational part of Clint’s brain, the one that knew about soul bonds since he was a child, chimed in with _Of course, he’s happy_ . Because people's bonds form the moment they think “I love this whole person” in unison. But, even including platonic soulmates, that moment usually comes _after_ some form of relationship has been established, and/or they’re aware of the reciprocity of a strong attachment. Clint has never heard of anyone figuring out someone _liked them back_ because they bonded. But, evidently, he and Bucky were thick enough to go as far as to _have bonded_ without noticing.

Bucky’s hand slid down Clint’s spine, wide and warm, then further around to his waist. “Yeah…” Bucky gasps wetly, clinging.

“Are you crying?!”

“Probably.” 

Bucky let Clint push him back so he could look at his face. His under eyes were wet, but his face was clear and his smile wide, uncontainable. Clint brushed the pads of his thumbs across the apple of Bucky’s cheeks, smiling back.

“My god, _Clint_.”

And. Yeah. Clint understood the sentiment. He nodded, sliding the tips of his fingers in the strands at Bucky’s temple.

There was a metal hand cupping Clint’s cheek. “It's not one sided,” Bucky marvelled, awed.

Clint slid his palm down Bucky’s back, in a firm, comforting caress, then went to touch Bucky’s hand on his face. He tilted his face into it. The metal always felt strangely warm, alive, unlike what you’d expect. “Guess not,” he agreed. “It's gonna take some wrapping my head around that.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Me too.”

Clint thumbed a fresh tear away.

“ _You,_ ” Bucky whispered. “I didn’t even-...”

“What?” Bucky stayed quiet, simply staring back, eyes bouncing all over Clint’s face. Clint rubbed his thigh encouragingly, giving his knee a grounding squeeze. “What it is, Buck?”

Bucky swallowed visibly, then seemed to pull himself together. He turned his metal hand so he could grasp Clint’s, and brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to Clint’s fingers, then spoke against them. “I didn’t even know if… if I even had a soul, anymore. And to… to get to have… to have _this_.” He squeezed Clint’s hand. “To be yours, I…” A smile quirked his lips. “It feels like fireworks, doll. I’m sorry, I know you hate them, but I feel like I’m made of them right now.”

Clint threaded their fingers together. “I get what you mean. I kind of feel the same.” Bucky chuckled, sighing, and leaned forward. Clint met him halfway, and they rested, eyes closed, forehead to forehead. Sitting close, legs tangled, breaths mingling, they took a moment to let it sink in. Clint brushed his thumb back and forth across Bucky’s skin. “These fireworks aren't so bad, I guess. I think I’m warming up to the concept, real fast.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh and turned his face. His cheek grazed Clint's, exploring. They breathed together, following each other, until their lips brushed. “This okay?” Bucky whispered.

Something that had grown too large, tight, high in Clint’s chest, snapped. He sucked in a shaky breath. “ _Fuck_ yeah, I've been wanting to do this for _months_.”

He was hardly done speaking when Bucky’s lips caught his. He couldn’t help the noise he made, or the way he pressed back, goosebumps spreading across his skin. Bucky opened up to him, sinking into him, chasing Clint’s mouth.

How was this for an unexpected turn of event? Clint considered the complete 180 his day had done and spared a tought to be grateful for Tony Stark. Tony, who stocked up on strong mouthwash and had created Jarvis and his berry flavored drinks.

But he only had one thought to spare, and it quickly evaporated when Bucky’s hand cupped his neck and Clint was nudged into a different angle. He gasped, a noise dying in his throat when their embrace abruptly became _hungrier_. He dug his fingers into Bucky’s shoulder, felt Bucky’s grin crook one side of his mouth under Clint’s. Clint rumbled, low in his chest, and responded in kind.

Their lips parted and they panted together for a suspended moment, teasing each other, or themselves. Then Bucky moved, closet the distance again. Their tongues brushed. It gave Bucky a full body shudder, his hands clenching reflexively where they were holding Clint. He slowed their pace, then. He pressed involved, close lipped kisses to Clint’s mouth, teasing with a soft nip of his teeth here and there. They ended up giggling in each other’s mouths. 

Clint sat up, suddenly hit by a realization, bracing both hands on Bucky’s face. “Oh, my god! This means we get bonding time off! Two whole weeks!” Two whole weeks of what basically amounted to _quarantine_.

Bucky smirked, gaze flicking from Clint’s eyes to his lips and back. “I believe we also have to stay glued to each other for a while.”

“Oh yeah. Or else it would be _particularly damaging to our health_ ,” Clint parroted. He pouted. “I felt yucky, you know?” he complained in an exaggerated whine.

Bucky honest to god booped his nose, smiling the happiest, goofiest smile Clint had ever seen on him. “I know. Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Clint let his head fall back in pantomime, pulling Bucky closer to counteract his antics. “What a chore.”

Bucky kissed his jaw, then snuggled him close. “Doctor's orders, I'm afraid.”

Clint closed his eyes and smiled to himself, burying one hand in Bucky’s hair. “I can't believe I'm being yanked off duty to have forced sexy vacations with the best and hottest guy I've ever met. Is it my birthday or something?”

“No. But it's mine.”

“It is?” Clint pulled back to stare at him. “Oh shit, it _is_ ! It’s March ninth! Your birthday’s _tomorrow_.”

“I’m afraid this year’s gonna be hard to top.”

Clint beamed. “Hm… I’m gonna cuddle you so hard.” He pecked kisses to one cheek, then the other. “Then tomorrow when I’m even less broken, I’m going to bake you a cake.”

“ _Ohh_.” Bucky lit up. Supersoldiers and their appetite... Clint grinned. “That one you learned from that fortune teller? With the raspberries, that you made for Nat last year?”

“Yeah?” Clint ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. “You liked that one?” Bucky’s eyes twinkled. “I'll bake you it and _then_ I'll get you dessert _._ ”

Bucky bit his lower lip, grin crooked, swaying closer. “Oh yeah? Looking forward to unwrapping my present, then…”

Clint laughed in his mouth. “Best. Sick days. _Ever_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! I didn't want to tag the plot twist, so I wouldn’t spoil the fun.
> 
> If you paid attention to context clues, you may have figured out Steve has a bond of his own. And with whom. Wanna tell me, so I know I wrote it clear enough?
> 
> Kudos and comments are like sunshine to writers! Let me know what you like, so I know to make more of it!


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